"Is that the merger document?" I ask, peering at his screen. Theo nods, and I quickly hit print before heading to the printer. The document comes out, and I staple it together before handing it to him.
Theo watches me intently, his gaze heavy and unblinking. It's uncomfortable, but I can't bring myself to look away. After a few long seconds, he turns and walks out without saying a word. I exhale sharply, realizing I'd been holding my breath, then head back to my desk. Theo's been acting strangely since last week, and I've caught him staring at me more times than I care to count.
Even Tobias has seemed off lately. I overheard an argument between them the other day. I tried to block it out—it's none of my business—but the tension is hard to ignore. It's been making the office feel uneasy, and Theo's odd stare-downs only add to the discomfort.
Tobias stays holed up in his office, in one of his moods. The only time I hear from him is when I transfer calls to his line. Before I realize it, it's already 5:30 PM. Where did the time go? Mr. Kane and Mr. Madden head out at 5:00. I finish tidying up and shutting things down, flicking off the lights as I head for the parking lot. There, I grab my phone charger and a change of warm clothes, tossing them into my handbag.
I need to be back before Tom locks up. He works a few hours in the morning and returns at night to take out the trash and scrub the floors. By 9:00 PM, he locks up the garage and rolls down the doors. That gives me just enough time to visit my mom before I head back.
Walking through the nearly empty parking garage, I step out onto the ground floor, by the park. I cut through the park toward the big neon sign glowing above the hospital across from Kane and Madden Industries: Mater Hospital. Every day, I come here to visit her. I make my way to the second floor, to ward 18, bed 5. I'm lucky the hospital is so close to work; I can't imagine fighting traffic, wasting precious moments with her.
She's been here for just over four months now. I take my usual seat in the sterile, too-clean room. I hate hospitals. The smell of hand sanitizer is overpowering, and this ward has an unmistakable stench of death. No, my mom isn't suffering from a chronic illness. I almost wish she were. My mother, Lila Riley, is in a coma.
She was on her way home from a local bar where she worked when a drunk driver ran a red light and crashed into her. Her car was totaled. They had to use the jaws of life to pull her out. She's been unconscious ever since. The doctors said she's brain-dead, and the only thing keeping her alive are the machines attached to her.
The hospital tried to pull the plug on her life support last month, but I fought it. I appealed their decision, and it's stretched to nearly five months now. I'm still waiting to hear from the Medical Ethics Association. I know the battle is futile, but for now, I have more time with her.
It's only a matter of time before they'll make me say goodbye—another reason I'm living in my car. My mom's medical bills are astronomical, and even when they eventually take her off life support, I'll be paying off her debt for at least another two years. My insurance only covers dependents or spouses, so it's no help. My mom didn't have insurance. She worked cash jobs and struggled to keep steady work.
I know people think I'm fooling myself, holding onto the hope she'll wake up. But I can't give up on her. She was there for me from the start. She taught me how to walk, talk, ride a bike—everything. She was my first friend and, in many ways, my only one. She raised me on her own after my father walked out when he found out she was pregnant. I never met him, and honestly, I don't care to.
I misplaced our house after three weeks of not being able to pay the contract. It turned out we were as of now months behind when the mischance happened,
and my mother had kept it from me. I had to select to keep mother lively or keep the house. So, I chose her.
I know she would have done the same for me. I know I'm deferring the inescapable, but how do you slaughter your mother? Slaughter the one individual who went through your whole life cherishing and supporting you? When the time comes, I require to know I have attempted everything, or I know I won't be able to live with the guilt.
I see down at my mother; she shows up to be resting, other than the tube hanging out of her mouth that strengths her to breathe and is keeping her lively. She has various tubes hanging out of her thin arms.
My mother utilized to be solid, enthusiastic, and cheerful. She looked more youthful than her age. With her blonde hair that was fair underneath her bear edges, she had great skin, no wrinkles, full pink lips, and a tan complexion. She looked extraordinary for a 45-year-old.
But presently, her skin has turned gray from the need of daylight, and her hair has gotten to be sleek and level as she has misplaced the capacity to care for it day by day. She has misplaced all her weight and muscle mass and is presently skin and bone. She is squandering absent in this clinic bed, a living cadaver. Sitting in the blue chair, I hurry closer to the bed and get her hand.
"Hey Momma, I miss you." I brush her hair off her temple, which is stuck to her skin. I tune in to the beep of her heart screen, hearing it beep frequently and the sound of the ventilator driving her to breathe. It is the same set of sounds each day. I utilized to come and sit with her for hours and tell her approximately my day or perused to her. But after a couple of months, I fair tell her I cherish her. I have run out of things to say.
I miss her delicate voice telling me everything is going to be affirm. I miss the way she made everything see easy. Lila Riley may not have been a culminate mother, but she'd been idealize to me. No doubt, she had a drinking issue, but other than that, I know she did the best she may with the hand life had managed her.
There was never a need of cherish, and no matter how severely I fucked up, she was continuously there to offer assistance me choose up the pieces and rebuild.
When I observe her, I think of all the things she will miss and all the recollections she won't get to be a portion of.
After sitting with her for a whereas, I rapidly duck into the little lavatory. The nurture Quip is on night move this evening and continuously lets me shower here. It's the as it were time I get to shower with warm water. Not hot,
but like tepid shower water as the showers are temperature directed. Still, I do not complain. Warm water is distant way better than cold. The other individuals in this room require help and are out of commission like my mother, so I do not have to stress approximately anybody opening the entryway, but I continuously bolt it fair in case a cleaner or nurture chooses to halt in.
Showering rapidly, I wash my hair and my body, cleaning additional great whereas I have the control of warm water. When I'm done, I jump out, dry myself off and slip into my track pants so I do not have to alter in the cramped car. I too slide my feet into a few socks some time recently putting on a match of pads. I at that point stick everything back into my curiously large tote whereas making my way back to my mother's side to say goodbye.
Sitting on the table following tol my charging phone are a few club sandwiches. Banter must have come in whereas I was in the shower. She knows my circumstance and that I have small cleared out over after I pay the clinic, so each move she is on, I continuously discover sandwiches or any extra nourishment from the cafeteria on the table holding up for me.